A Congo Diary

Apologies for lack of comms but where I have landed near the Sudanese border, is in a dark corner of Africa.The Garamba park where I will be based for two months, is remote, extreme and totally reliant on it own shaky infrastructure. Staffed by Portuguese,Belgian, Congolese, French, and Swiss nationals to mention but a few, the Garamba Park Democratic Republic of the Congo, (DRC) is one of many of the fast disappearing wild life sanctuaries in Africa. To make it worse, its guards who are designed to preserve the ecology, are its biggest culprits it would seem. Avarice, greed,corruption, ill disciplined and openly mutinous, there is a large mountain to climb before any sort of sanity can prevail. But more of that later.

I arrived in Kingali (Rwanda) Wednesday last and was driven through the mountainous passes to the Rwanda/Congo border a few minutes away from the lava ravaged town of Gomo on the shores of lake Kivu. A pleasant interlude at the Kivu Sun right on the beach was followed by the usual intimidation of " so called" scruffily dressed, secret police inside the Congo who wanted to know what was in the vehicle? We are whites you see (!)and anything which they consider would be worthwhile having, is normally handed over to them by fearful " tourists" who want to avoid a confrontation. Well, we didn't fit into that category.Having earlier withstood their banging at the sides of the pick-up, I forcibly brushed my way past one of those leaches from the passenger door en route to customs. The intimidatory tactics ended and we sailed through.

I bedded down for the night at a Lakeside Hotel called the " VIP Palace " - anything but, but a cold beer soon takes away the overall lack of service, confusion and lack of running water. It was to be my home for the next 3 nights for forthcoming days spent in Gomo, which were taken up with admin and log. Huge thunderstorms assaulted the town every afternoon and evening but life continued through the streets which had become muddy swamps and rivulets gushing their way through the rockhard, tyre ripping, fields of lava from the last eruption in 2002.

I suppose my adventure really commenced on Saturday afternoon when in the company of others, we took off in a Cessna 206 in the gathering gloom heading north to Ishango on the western shore of Lake Edward where I had been based earlier this year.I had to leave three quarters of my kit behind due to lack of space with the promise it would be restored to me he next day - its Tuesday now and I am still waiting!

The flight over the volcanoes and lake Edward was an experience not to be missed. One of the volcanoes is still bubbling and molten lava inside the crater is clearly visible from above.

We arrived at Ishango at sunset with my heart in my throat. The Ugandan pilot had misjudged the length of the runway and a cross wind. Running out of airstrip, he had to gun the plane at full throttle to gain height and make another attempt at landing. I was mindful of my earlier flight in an Antonov which was flapping itself through the sky when I was last up there in February (see earlier Congo report) and thought of the other 64 aircraft that crashed last year and another 3 in March this year, when I stepped out of the cabin!

Ishango was different from when I was there last. All tents were now lit up, the kitchen was cleaner and several buildings had had running repairs carried out on them.
The hippos and crocs together with the forest hog, had gone from our front doorstep (I am told they had moved to greener pastures) whilst our kitchen staff had all been replaced. Training which had been undertaken there for the last two months by two French instructors had come to an end. The troops, both old and new, were now awaiting for upliftment to go " operational" in the Garamba.

A pleasant evening was spent in the gazebo overlooking the Semliki River and at 10h00 the next day (Sunday) we were airborne once again in the Cessna bound for a two hour flight to Nagero, the headquarters of the Garamba park.To describe the country we flew over, was something out of a Jules Verne novel. Clouds pregnant with rain scudded below, I had glimpses of creeper, canopy clad, green tropical forests spreading to the horizon as far as the eye could see in all directions. Intermittent brown torrents coiled their way through the foliage to join the Congo river far to the south. Several bald rocky mountain peaks broke through the carpet around which we weaved our way, until 20 minutes before landing, we ploughed into a tropical deluge. My thoughts were once again on earlier casualties. Suffice to say, we aquaplaned onto the torrent of mud and clay which was the Nagero airstrip and another " not to be forgotten" flight had come to an end!


So here I was! Fifteen years earlier I had been earmarked to come to this desperate place to undertake a mission but it never happened. Now it was all for real.As we drove our way into camp through the pouring rain, I was once again reminded of what once had been a viable colonial driven operation in Africa. Buildings which once housed tourists, were now in ruin. Sagging eaves, squatters (families of the rangers!) unpainted and moss covered buildings ; generally accompanied by the total neglect of a place run by post independent Africa. A large storeroom contained skulls of hippos, elephants, rhino, Congo giraffe skins, crocodile heads etc while 3 tonnes of ivory are locked away somewhere.

I was shown to an empty tent which will be my home for the next two months and which I am slowly getting into order, but being Tuesday, with still no kit and no recruits in sight (yes, the cargo plane from Gomo still has to put in an appearance) I will temporarily shut down this diary and update you in due course on my first arrests and
a " flight of angels " over the garden of Eden

Ends